But She Can't Cook
by Ava Chanel
Summary: Mal knows Inara is a woman of many talents, but he's hell bent on finding something the companion can't do. A series of snippets where Mal thinks on Inara's endless skill set, and her single flaw. Mal x Inara pure, shameless fluff.
1. Beauty

**A/N:**_ I assure you, the next chapter of Sky Song is in the works, and expect an update soon. However, I've been itching to play around with something new and different. Hope it tides you over until the next update for SS. Based on a head canon. _

**But She Can't Cook**

_Mal knows Inara is a woman of many talents, but he's hell bent on finding something the companion can't do. A series of snippets where Mal thinks on Inara's endless skill set, and her single flaw._

* * *

**.one. :** _Beauty_

"When's the last time you even been with a real woman anyhow, Mal?"

Under normal circumstances, the question would have jostled the captain. But the mess was empty, save for the spirits and the company of an already intoxicated mercenary. Jayne watched Mal with daring eyes, swishing the amber liquid in his glass around slowly and carefully. The dim light cast shadows against his features that suggested a devious nature. Had he not been a bit dizzy with drink himself, the captain would have brushed off the thought. But alcohol had a habit of loosening him up, and thinking thoughts he normally kept locked away somewhere deep in his mind. Images of familiar faces came flooding to the surface, and he thought on each and every one of them, all of them important to him, all of them lost too soon. Nandi would have been the latest one, the freshest wound perhaps. Mal took a swig of his drink as he thought of her, choosing to feel the burn down his throat rather than the one behind his eyes.

"Too long, I think," Mal jested, lightening up the mood with a forced smile.

Jayne lifted his cup to that, before downing the rest of the liquid.

Mal just stared down the bottom of his glass at the amber liquid reflection staring back at him. The faces swam in his mind, like reminders of his failures throughout his long and dreary life. He'd sworn to never let it happen again, to never let anyone get that close again. It was his way of keeping them safe. But then there was _her_.

It always came back to that.

Little miss perfect. At first, he had been okay with it. So what if she was attractive? Saffron was proof that an attractive lady did not mean a lovely lady. Besides, she was Alliance; core-bred, everything he despised. She was part of everything that had ruined his life, and the lives of everyone he'd come to know and love. It had been easy to hate her in the beginning.

But it would be even easier to fall in love with her, as he had later come to learn.

She was a woman not like any other. If her beauty wasn't enough, she came armed to the teeth with an arsenal of other talents and wiles. He could have been the most pompous ass in the 'verse, and she'd still find it in her to forgive him. He lived to get a rise out of her, just to paint her in an ugly light, and even then, his plan would backfire. Even if she did slip, and allow him to get to her, he only ever found her more endearing in her rage. One could say it was near impossible to find the flaw in Inara Serra, but he was downright fixated on doing so anyways. This way, he could have an out, and be free of her spells.

Damn that woman.

"Gotta bunch o' lookers on this here ship even, and we can't touch 'em...Enough to drive any man crazy, I say," Jayne slurred as he began to pour himself another round.

Mal thought of Inara, because she was all he could seem to think about some nights.

"I'll drink to that," he added before finishing the contents in his cup.

Jayne wiped his mouth, before saying, "Knew them companions came all pretty, but never much cared. Whores are whores, I say. Do the same thing, they all do. Then she comes around, lookin' the way she does. Sets an unrealistic standard. It ain't even fair."

He hadn't wanted to admit to it back then when he'd first met her. She was a companion, an Alliance whore. He had reminded himself that he was supposed to hate her, and it had been easy for a while. But, slowly, he'd grown curious, and it wasn't long before it became a habit to make sure he at least caught a glimpse of her before she left to go visit her various clients. The outfits that fit her body just right, the makeup that perfectly highlighted her best features, the slight reveal of bare skin that was just enough to tease the imagination. She was tantalizing.

He may have tried hating her, but he couldn't deny the woman took beauty to a whole new level. It was a while before he could admit to himself that he was indeed attracted to her. He only hated her even more for it though, especially on the loneliest days when she'd consume his thoughts.

But it only ever got worse from there.

He'd see her without all the shiny, just lounging about the ship in her comfortable shifts, hair loose about her shoulders and without a trace of makeup. He'd see her share a hearty laugh with Kaylee, watch the way she'd smile so warmly towards River, and he would start having a harder time hating her. He learned of her anger, of her deep concern for those around her, and the way the emotions played amongst her features. There wasn't a thing that could make her ugly, not an emotion in the 'verse. It really wasn't fair at all, and she used it to her advantage many a time.

The 'verse was a cold and desolate place, too miserable for someone like her. She was a breath of fresh air among all the pollution, something that didn't belong, and it terrified him. He promised he wouldn't, not ever again, but she'd bewitched him. Now he was at her mercy, and he would fight to keep her for as long as he possibly could.

"'S too bad she ain't good in the kitchen...," Jayne blurted out suddenly.

It brought Mal out of a pessimistic train of thought.

Well, at least there was that.

He chuckled lightly at the mercenary's observation.

"Hey now, she makes a mean tea," Mal argued, causing Jayne to snort out loud.

Both men laughed, and the sound filled the empty corridors of the ship.

* * *

**A/N: **_Like I said, just little snippets of Mal's thoughts on Inara and the things he simply doesn't say. Expect total fluff and cuteness as he thinks on these things. Because he's just a real big softy inside. :) Reviews are welcome as per usual, so do let me know what you think. _


	2. Dancing

**A/N: **_A thank you to all the lovely readers and reviewers. More Sky Song is coming, that is assured. But in the mean time, how about some shameless Mal and Inara fluff? :)_

* * *

**But She Can't Cook**

_Mal knows Inara is a woman of many talents, but he's hell bent on finding something the companion can't do. A series of snippets where Mal thinks on Inara's endless skill set, and her single flaw. Mal x Inara pure, shameless fluff._

* * *

**.two. : **_dancing_

"She's so...graceful. Ain't she, capt'n?"

Kaylee's eyes shimmered underneath the chandelier light as she admired the companion on the grand dance floor, in the arms of some unnamed, foolish man.

Rather than admit that the woman was a vision when she moved so effortlessly to the music, Mal responded with a swig of his drink, draining his cup of all its contents. After all, he'd been so lucky as to experience her ease of dance once himself. His fingertips still burned from the memory of having held her waist, of having her palms pressed against his. She always knew all the steps, all of the rules to almost every stylish dance of the season. She adapted to them much like a newborn butterfly adapted to its wings. Graceful was an understatement. It was no wonder everyone's eyes were on her whenever she entered a room, dressed in the finest of silks, her heavy skirts floating about her as she glided around on delicate feet.

"She's a real classy lady, she is," Mal conceded after much time had elapsed since Kaylee's observation.

He allowed himself a small glance, and instantly hated himself for it. He watched the way the other man held her, the way she smiled up at him adoringly, and felt the acid in his stomach churn. He never did wear jealousy well.

"Think she'd mind if I asked her for a few lessons? Not that I'd, you know, need 'em or anythin', but it would be kinda nice...," Kaylee asked rather bashfully.

Mal regarded his little engineer with a curious smile. Then, he shrugged, and replied nonchalantly; "You may as well ask her. Knowin' 'Nara, don't think she'd mind much at all."

And she hadn't.

It was how he'd ended up in quite a predicament.

He couldn't help it. He'd been walking into the cargo bay to see what the fuss had been all about, only to find most of his crew gathered around the three girls, while music played on in the background. He saw her then, barefoot and flushed, thick black curls coming loose from the exertion, and giggling like a girl half her age. She'd lifted up her skirts, and was dancing alongside Kaylee and River while they tried teaching her the steps to their made up routine. Even River had been enjoying herself, jumping around and mimicking Inara's nimble footsteps against the cold floors of the ship. There were smiles all around as each girl moved to the exciting beat of the music, mastering it without any difficulty. The laughter was contagious; Simon and Zoe both seemed equally amused by the exchange, temporarily forgetting all of the unhappy things in their lives.

That was when he'd been spotted.

Taken off guard, the captain was forced into the dance, despite his reluctance. Hands grabbed at his, and led him to the centre where all the excitement flourished. Kaylee had started it, soon followed by River taking him for a spin he could barely keep up with, before he finally landed in Inara's arms. He thought she'd protest, perhaps decline him, but she was having such a carefree time that she'd accepted him gladly, and they danced away a set of jumbled steps to the beat of the rhythm, and yet followed no particular rules or pattern. She laughed all the while, even when he'd step on her toes occasionally, or they'd bump knees.

Inara was a natural, and her honest joy was infectious. His mood lightened, and he entertained the notion for a while before having had enough fun and calling it quits for the evening. Or maybe, he just really liked having any excuse to be that close to her. Sweaty palms and a quicker heart beat were the symptoms. But she was having such a time that she didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him. She never really ever did.

"You're a good dancer, Mal. Just need some practice is all," she'd tell him later, coming down from the exhilaration of the exercise.

He never thought he'd see her sweat, but there she was, golden skin gleaming with a thin sheet of it, as her chest heaved with every breath she took in.

He ran a hand through his hair. "My Ma used to tell me I was born with two left feet. No amount of practice can cure that, 'Nara. Though I appreciate the effort."

She'd smiled at him then, sweetly and sincerely, tilting her head ever so slightly that it nearly took his breath away. He wanted to question her sudden amusement at his comment, but found his tongue was tied, much like a shy schoolboy trying to speak to the prettiest girl in town. His heart was a pitter patter no matter how much he tried to quell it.

" Malcolm Reynolds," she'd started, still smiling brightly at him, cheeks flushed pink, "I think that's the first time you've ever spoken to me about your family."

She left him then to mull over her words, turning her head and walking away, still very much happy with her latest revelation.

"Admit it capt'n; she's perfect," Kaylee told him, having snuck up on the pair when he hadn't been paying any attention.

She grinned up at him knowingly, wiggling her eyebrows at him suggestively, her hands tucked into the deep pockets of her army green coveralls.

Feeling vulnerable, Mal retaliated the only way he knew how; "Yeah? Since when does a perfect woman take to burnin' down a man's ship?"

Kaylee pouted. "Aw, come on! She was only tryin' to help make you somethin' special for your birthday! Can't fault her for tryin', capt'n."

Mal laughed, and shook his head. "Way to a man's heart's through his stomach, l'il Kaylee, not through settin' fires to his gorram ship. Be wise for you to keep that in mind, too."

If the engineer had had a comeback for that one, Mal never did hear it.

* * *

**A/N: **_Playing out some head canon in a lot of these. For example, the fact that Mal never talks about his past or his life before the war. I think it would be a pivotal moment in his and Inara's relationship whenever he does open up to her about some of those things. Also, I do feel like Kaylee and River bring out a childish side to Inara, and it's a welcomed change from her usual serious, mature demeanor. Blah blah, this author has rambled enough. You guys know what to do at this point. :)_


	3. Singing

**A/N: **_Cosplay season is over for me, or at least I'm free to go at my own pace, so I should be able to make more time for writing. Rest assured, Sky Song is coming along seamlessly, and I expect to have it finished soon. With that, there will be a massive repost of Anything But Love. For now, have something short and sweet and sad. _

_Note: This would probably take place during Serenity (the movie), right around the time of Book's death._

* * *

**But She Can't Cook**

_Mal knows Inara is a woman of many talents, but he's hell bent on finding something the companion can't do. A series of snippets where Mal thinks on Inara's endless skill set, and her single flaw. Mal x Inara pure, shameless fluff._

* * *

**.three. : **_singing_

It was not the way he would have wanted to know of it.

Heck, it wasn't the way any of them would have liked to stumble upon it.

Perhaps, gathered around a fire, fresh off a successful heist. Or, during a pleasant dinner conversation in those precious moments they'd all been gathered about, laughing the time away. Even whilst walking past her open shuttle, as she played with Kaylee's or River's hair, brushing at ease. All of those would have been happy times. Or, more accurately, it would have been a time when they'd all still been together, when they all could have enjoyed her secret talent. Then, maybe, she'd have also sung a different tune.

They would never receive such a luxury though, and the captain had been a fool for ever believing in it for more than a second.

Instead, after they'd desecrated Serenity with the blood and bones of all those they'd come to know and love, they gathered and sat at a quiet table, neither feeling for food or drink, unless it was of the alcoholic kind. Each one of his crew was lost in thought, and no doubt still hearing the melancholy tune, still witnessing the beautiful scene amongst all the ruin and the havoc in their tired minds. Every soul was very much aware of the empty chair at the table that night, as if for the first time, it was forever relinquished.

And all the while, Inara Serra danced about the mess in an effort to create something feasible for them to eat. Had it been a typical day, it would have been her turn in the week, and she'd picked it up as if she hadn't left the ship in the first place. The crew would usually stifle groans in anticipation for the burned protein they would no doubt be served. However, no one would audibly complain, except for maybe Jayne. Though Mal would silence him with a deadly glare, but tonight, not even the mercenary had the heart to jest.

Their hands were bloodied, soaked through to the bone, and they floated through space wearing death like a mark of triumph. Tonight, there was a silent respect. Not only for the dead, but also for the companion who had sang for their souls.

He could see her still, as if he hadn't left the scene at all.

She was a flash of red, bright and ominous against the drab colours of the planet, now scorched with fire and ash. The dirt kissed the ends of her long dress, and the wind tangled her ebony curls, as if to spread them across an empty canvas that was the sky. She was a contrast, standing there, very much alive amongst all the dead and all the rubble.

And she sang.

Her voice was small, yet it filled the emptiness. She started soft and low, and she carried stronger the more she walked. He watched her, much like everyone else did, transfixed by her. Who was he kidding; he was always enthralled by her, and now was no different. Only, this time, even the rest of the crew was summoned by her ethereal presence. River was the first to appear, tiptoeing gently amongst the bodies, drawn to the voice that beckoned her. Kaylee and Simon were next, followed by Wash and Zoe, and finally Jayne shortly after. They all stood still, watching, listening. Yet, she cared not for the spectators.

She stood in the wreck of the orphanage, where the bodies were thickest. Children. Most of the casualties there were young. So, she sang to them, her words foreign; a language long ago dead from Earth-That-Was. If the blood and the mangled limbs bothered her, she remained undeterred. Instead, she crouched down to them, laid a gentle hand on their eyes, and closed the lids that had remained opened in death. For a moment, however brief, she sang only to them, either by bending her head to their ear, or by keeping her eyes only on them.

Mal didn't understand the words, but didn't take long to realize that he didn't need to. Her voice was gentle, eerie, and the notes were tainted deeply with sorrow, like the voice of a grieving mother who'd lost her child. Yet, there was an odd peacefulness in her tragic tune. It intertwined so well, that it eased even his weary soul, and he knew that his crew also felt a burden being lifted, however small.

It was a final comfort, what she gave them. It was a chance for eternal sleep, to know peace, and to be sent to a new home, a promised one. Her voice was like cashmere against the skin, lulling everything into a calm, warm state, even the restless souls, the ones who were still struggling to let go. She eased their passing. They clutched at her, cried and wailed in agony, marking her skin with their blood, and still she persevered, hushing them until the pain would pass.

The wind whipped her face, drying the tears into salt stains against her skin. When she wiped at her brow, he saw her fingers shaking. And still she sang, not a single note askew. She hit the highs, she dipped the lows, and she faded out into a soft silence once she deemed her work done.

He was the first she'd look to, despite the betrayal they all felt for him. She turned and stared at him from across the distance. Her eyes locked with his, and she took in a deep, shaky breath whilst the wind splashed her hair across her face and made the red of her skirt swim in its current. No matter what, she didn't resent him, not even then. They were forgiving eyes. Unreal; she was something that would never belong.

She'd sung for the living, as much as she had for those long gone.

And they'd listened.

The effects still clung to them; like a spell weaved stronger the longer they basked in it.

Yet, she was the only one who remained unaffected.

That night, they would eat whatever it was she made, no matter how burnt or black or tasteless it was, ever conscious of the missing presence amongst them.

That night, she would place a plate before the empty chair, and no one would question it.

* * *

**A/N: **_Head canon. Inara's got a beautiful singing voice. Plus, I don't think I've done a proper tribute to Shepard's death. I can only imagine how pained the crew was doing what they had to do to their ship, and how rough Mal had to be about it. It becomes important, I think, to display Inara's contrasting gentleness. She reminds him to stay human. Anyways, feedback is welcomed of course. _


	4. Style

**A/N: **_Listening to Florence and the Machine's new album has fed some muses. Reap what they sew._

* * *

**But She Can't Cook**

_Mal knows Inara is a woman of many talents, but he's hell bent on finding something the companion can't do. A series of snippets where Mal thinks on Inara's endless skill set, and her single flaw. Mal x Inara pure, shameless fluff._

* * *

**.four. : **_style_

"I don't like it," he'd told his Ma.

He'd wrinkled his nose in disgust, and kicked his little feet from his spot on the bed. He'd hurt her feelings, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to approve of anything that resembled Alliance culture and society, not after everything they'd done to ruin theirs.

"What's wrong with it, Mal? It ain't the colour, is it?" She held the pink, frilly thing against her form, and examined it in the full length mirror.

"It just ain't you," he'd told her rather flatly.

He had never been too keen on the Alliance's skewed perception of beauty. Give him a woman simple, clean, natural, over a woman who was more painted than a porcelain doll. A woman who weren't afraid to toil through the day, put her hair up, and wasn't afraid to get herself dirty, that was a real woman. Still she would remain beautiful, skin glowing under the light of the setting sun, hair frizzing, cheeks burnt, sweat still slick on her face. It would be a true sort of attraction, something real. No secrets, lies, or deceit.

But then again, that had all been before Inara Serra had come along and changed everything.

Funny how a woman was capable of shaking up a man's ideals, some he'd thought were forever unchanging. But he'd known it the moment he'd laid eyes on her; it was there in the slight dilation of his pupils, of the flutter of his heart, of the clammy palms and sticky, dry tongue. She'd walked on in, the golden skin of her midriff exposed, small waist accentuated, the curve of her hips swaying beneath the light fabric of her long, loose, shimmering skirt. Her sheer veil did little to mask the heavy black kohl that deepened her already dark eyes, and the painted burgundy of her full lips.

_"You want me."_

Truer words could never have been spoken. He hadn't even realized it, not until she'd said it in such a way, her voice like liquid honey, her mouth looking to be just as sweet to the taste. She'd walked into his life, all glamour and silks, and he'd never thought he'd seen a creature so unearthly. Inara could have made any man forget how to breathe. It didn't matter if she was dressed in the most tantalizing of clothing, if it were lace or satin or chiffon. She would be equally unforgiving in every shade of the rainbow, and he could only imagine the damage she did when she wore nothing at all. Hell, he'd spent more than enough time thinking on that inappropriate thought.

She could steal all of the attention in a room by simply entering it, whether she'd be in elegant, ravishing red or slinky, midnight black. He'd seen almost every aspect of her, from watching her leaving to meet a client, to witnessing her fresh from sleep in the early hours of the day. Her hair could have been in an elaborate up-do, or a mess of free, rich, ebony curls; it never mattered to him.

She would always be able to pull him into her orbit, with no regard to the predicament he was in. He loved her in all the deep reds and dark lip stains. He loved her in her dainty heels that clicked against the metal tiles of Serenity, while she lifted her skirts, still seemingly gliding about the place. He loved her barefoot; small, warm, painted toes stepping delicately into the mess, or moving up the stairs quietly like a cat.

He loved her.

It made him ache, but he was truer for it.

"Well, ain't that somethin'," he could almost hear his Ma say into his ear.

Irony was not a friend of Malcolm Reynolds. Yet, there he was, completely baffled by the very type of woman he'd sworn off. She'd met him in a costume that would have instantly marked her for her trade. She'd even confessed to him that she'd been an enemy of his, and for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to see her any differently. He could never learn to hate her, try as he did.

Even Kaylee and Zoe had taken note of the companion's expansive wardrobe and shameless good looks. Her eyes were trusting and warm, her touch gentle and kind; she'd won them over instantly.

"I like her," Zoe had confided to the captain upon meeting the other woman, and hearing about her bold statements in regards to the shuttle.

When he'd asked her to explain her decision, she'd shrugged and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "She's different, that's certain. Can't really explain it, but I think she'll fit in fine, sir."

_Feminine wiles._

He'd blamed it on wiles.

But when he was near her, his heart kept doing that funny little thing, no matter how much he'd tried to quiet it down, no matter if she was just sitting and eating or reading a book. Heck, it did it even when he was angry with her, deep in the throes of a heated exchange. His hands ached to hold her by her waist, pull her to him, and crush her mouth with his, smudging all that carefully applied lipstick. He hated himself for it.

"My vote's for 'Nara, capt'n." Kaylee's verdict was also in, and she'd said it with a sweet smile, knowing she'd been the deciding factor.

He'd been outnumbered.

And maybe, that had been a good thing.

He'd found her in her shuttle after the events of Miranda were still fresh. She wore some battle scars, and she looked just as weary as they all did. The clothes on her back were spotted with blood, the delicate fabric torn in some places. Her lipstick was smeared and sweat had dried on the flesh of her temple, thin and salty. She had a purple bruise forming over her lip, and there was still a trail of dried blood around her nostrils. Her fingers were shaking, a few nails broken from digging them into the flesh of the reaver that had attacked her. He had no doubt he'd find blood beneath the tips, too.

Still, he felt that familiar, painful twinge in his chest at the sight of her; aching and longing and love. Even then, she could still affect him in such a way that no other woman in the 'verse ever could.

"I'm going to keep them," she'd told him in a steady voice.

She wouldn't look at him, her eyes glazed over with an infinite amount of unshed tears and heartache. When he reached her, he saw her staring, asphyxiated, at the luggage she'd tucked away and forgotten about before she'd left. The contents lay on the ground, in a tangle of silks and satin, and it became apparent that she'd contemplated tossing them out the airlock.

She looked at him then, searched his eyes deeply for the first time in a long time, and laying bare what was between them.

She took his hand in hers, and stroked the skin of his roughened knuckles with the other. "Don't take it the wrong way, Mal. It's still a part of me, part of who I was, and who I have become. Just as much as Serenity is...just as much as this crew is...," she looked away then before adding softly, "...just as much as you are, now."

Funny how such few words could set the universe spinning about.

Maybe it was the intensity of the situation, or that familiar feeling in his chest, or the ringing in his head, or the way her hands felt so soft against his own. Even when he'd gotten up to walk away, he still wasn't too sure exactly what had driven him to put his foot in his mouth.

"So long as you take to wearin' somethin' less like to catch fire when it's your turn at the kitchen."

Maybe, he was just a gorram fool after all...

* * *

**A/N: **_I never thought Mal would make it easy for Inara, not even when she's on the verge of confessing how she actually feels. Which, I imagine, took place after the BDM. I don't think she would ever throw out her fancy clothes, being the sentimental type, and I sort of wanted to write about the clothing Inara wore. It seemed to be something I felt was major in the show; it was always exciting to load up an episode and see what fabulous garment the companion would be wearing next. Not to mention the plethora of concept art. I also played on Inara being the type of woman most wouldn't expect Mal to fall for. It's a dynamic of what makes their relationship so interesting. And yes, bits here were taken from Out of Gas because that episode is golden. _

_As usual, feedback is welcomed. Thanks for reading. :)_


	5. Mama

**A/N: **_Go figure the only day I have time to actually buckle down and write is when I am forced to take a sick day. Anyways, this chapter is different in terms of timeline. While most have been slightly scattered, this one is definitely a future chapter. A nice little 'what-if', in Mal's head. Enjoy. :)_

* * *

**But She Can't Cook**

* * *

**.five. : **_mama_

He could watch her all day and not feel as if a single moment had been wasted.

Sure, some could argue it was her fine looks and attractive figure that drew him to her, and initially, perhaps it had been. Malcolm Reynolds had met plenty a woman who was a pretty face and a promised night of fun, but not always were they able to capture him the way Inara Serra could. It didn't matter that she was as swollen as a hot air balloon, waddling around the kitchen with an exasperated look about her lovely features. She was annoyed with him, stubborn like always and refusing his help. It was funny enough watching her try and maneuver the kitchen when she wasn't one month shy of giving birth to a sprawling babe.

Mal couldn't help the obnoxious smile that played amongst his lips as he looked on at her struggling. She had one hand pressed into the arch of her lower back, and another protectively resting on her rounded belly. Her breathing was labored and her fingers were clumsy with the pots and pans, and every time she dropped one, it was quite the mission for her to get down and reach for it.

"_Yúchǔn de yīkuài gǒu shǐ_!" she seethed, the sling of curse words proving to be very unlike her usual well kept demeanor.

She strained to reach the clatter on the floor, her protruding belly very evidently in the way more than she would have liked. If Mal paid close enough attention, he would hear her blaming him for all of it, and she wouldn't have been entirely wrong for saying so, either.

He grinned before poking fun at her; "It takes _two_ to tango, darlin'. You know that better than anyone."

That was how he'd ended up at the receiving end of a very heated, angry glare. If looks could kill, he'd have been a dead man thrice over.

Strangely enough, that was when he seemed to recall a funny piece of advice that the ever proper doctor had given him what felt like ages ago. It had only truly been a couple months back during a routine check-up on both mother and baby, when Mal had made a joke in bad taste. Inara had not been impressed with him at the time, and Simon had taken it as an opportunity to bestow upon the captain some much needed wisdom that only a veteran would truly know.

"_Never upset a pregnant woman, Mal. Especially one with a weapon nearby. And I don't only mean guns and sharp objects; it could quite literally be anything within arm's reach,"_ he'd told him.

Huh. Wasn't she reaching for a frying pan just now?

Mal stood up as quickly as the realization had dawned on him, and made a grab for the kitchenware that his lovely, pregnant, scowling lover had been meaning to throw square at his head.

"Woah, now. No need to be gettin' tetchy, _qīn'ài_. Why don't I just get that for ya instead?" He said, moving away at a safe distance with frying pan in hand.

When he extended his other free hand towards her in an effort to help her stand up again, she slapped it away angrily, and used the counter for leverage.

"Just get out of my kitchen, Mal," she commanded with a shaky voice, appearing uncomfortable and frustrated with her unsteady gait.

He put the frying pan down behind him, feeling a touch guilty at her emotional deterioration. He hoped and hoped against any crying; he of course had a pretty bad weakness for it as it was. He'd sooner be at the merciless, wrinkly hands of Niska again than suffer Inara's tears.

When he found his voice, it was soothing and calm; "I ain't goin' anywhere, 'Nara."

Her bottom lip was quivering, even though she was trying so hard to stay mad at him. He then reached for her shoulders, tentatively, not quite sure if she'd push him away again. It was always so hard to tell whenever she got this way.

Her hand came up to her face, shielding her eyes from him, and he knew, in that moment, that the waterworks had started. He pulled her into him, not hesitating for a minute, and she grabbed at his shirt, shaking in his arms. He held her there, running his hands through her soft, dark curls while hushing her with comforting words as best as he could. The first few times she'd broken down like that before him, he hadn't the slightest clue what to do. He'd either leave the room, as she'd often request, or attempt to embrace her. Neither ended well. She'd either be furious with him for abandoning her in her condition, or would beat him off of her if he attempted to hold her.

But Mal was nothing if not adaptable. Eventually, he understood, albeit not without some help from a squirrely mechanic that was already a mother of two.

"_It don't matter none, capt'n. She could be cryin' 'cause she lost her favourite spoon or 'cause she don't fit into any of her shiny clothes no more. Point is, she'll fight ya at first, but in the end, she really just wants you there. Leavin' her alone is just about the worst thing you could think of doin'," _Kaylee had explained to him when she'd caught him in a stressful moment after he'd had it out with Inara.

So, he'd taken her angry punches, and let her fuss if need be. Eventually she'd calm down in his arms, and all would be forgiven. At the end of the day, they'd both laugh it off and she'd admit to how silly the hormones were making her.

"How can I even feed him?" she hiccupped against Mal's chest, sniffling.

She wiped at her reddened nose and took in a gulp of air. "I can't even cook anything actually edible, the poor thing is going to starve out and I'm going to be a horrible mother," she confessed through bouts of tears.

So that's what it was about this time. Mal would have laughed if she hadn't been so serious. The woman was always ready to find the silliest reasons as to why she wasn't suited to be a mother, ignoring all the ways in which she would. If only she could see herself through his eyes for a day, she'd blush at all the ways he loved her.

"I don't think he'll starve, darlin'. I'm thinkin' he'll be at the teat a while still before he even gets at the mushy, packaged stuff. You got until his teeth start sproutin' to worry about him havin' any cooked goods," Mal told her, rubbing her back gently as the shaking slowly subsided.

She pulled away from him a little then, taking the chance to search his face with shining, red rimmed eyes. He tried a small smile, admiring the beauty in her tear streaked face.

"'Sides, he's still got me. I like to think I ain't so bad myself in the kitchen. My ma taught me all she knew, after all."

He knew he'd won when the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. She wiped at her puffy eyes, and tried again. "I suppose you have to be good at _something_," she teased.

He feigned being offended by her jibe. "Hey now, I've got plenty talents you don't even know of!"

She giggled at his reaction, still sniffling at the remnants of tears. "I think its sweet your mother taught you how to cook. I bet you could do wonders with natural ingredients," she said sincerely, and with a sweet smile.

Protein could only ever get as flavorful. Back on Shadow, Mal had had a plethora of fresh ingredients in his home, and so creating tasty dishes had come quite easy for him.

"It's true; everybody loves a man who can cook," said Mal, not humbly.

He half expected her to nudge him with her elbow at his bold statement, but was pleasantly surprised with a tender kiss on the lips instead. She had grabbed a fistful of his shirt and tugged him towards her, planting her soft mouth onto his in a delicate embrace.

When they parted, she stayed a mere few inches away from his face, smiling up at him while he admired her with lusting eyes, seemingly caught in her orbit and unable to pull away.

"Mmm, I know I sure do," she purred contently, her arm snaking its way around his neck while she leaned in to his lips a second time.

He didn't even get the chance to tell her what a wonderful little mama she was going to make.

* * *

**A/N: **_I like the whole teasing between Mal and Inara throughout the series, but it's also fun to write scenarios where they've gotten past all that and are finally just happy. This was definitely one of those times. As per usual, feedback is welcomed. :)_

* * *

**Translations:**

_Yúchǔn de yīkuài gǒu shǐ: _stupid piece of shit

_qīn'ài: _dear


	6. Yǒngqì

**A/N: **_I realize it's been some time since I've updated this, but I have had this idea in my head for quite some time. Please, enjoy._

**But She Can't Cook**

* * *

**.six. :** _yǒngqì_

"Is that wife soup I smell?"

Wash sauntered into the mess, seemingly following his nose. He was immediately stopped in his tracks when, instead of his tall, beautiful wife, he was greeted by the sight of the broad shouldered captain working in the kitchenette. A look of confusion crossed the pilot's features as he opened his mouth to comment. At a loss for words, he closed it again and chose to say nothing at all instead.

Mal had turned to give him an acknowledging glance before losing interest and returning his attention to the boiling, steaming pot before him, stirring gingerly. Wash approached him hesitantly. Looking over Mal's shoulder and with raised eyebrows, he stared at the contents of the soup the captain was so preoccupied cooking. The scene was so unnatural and strange, it was throwing him off completely, leaving him utterly speechless. Then again, it really did smell _good_.

"It ain't wife soup," Mal remarked finally, still not bothering to look in Wash's direction.

After a momentary pause of more sputtering from the pilot, Mal confessed, "Zoe won't give me the recipe. Says it ain't gonna stay a secret if she goes 'round tellin' everyone who asks."

"That does sound like her," Wash conceded, finally finding something he could comment on.

Mal continued to stir with a delicate hand, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal thick, strong forearms. "This here was considered a delicacy back on Shadow. Ain't a cook on the planet didn't know how to make hero stew," Mal explained, bringing a bit of the broth to his mouth via the wooden spoon.

"Hero stew?" Wash asked, getting a long whiff of the delicious scent.

Mal nodded. He blew lightly at the small amount of hot liquid in the spoon before sipping it carefully. "The fresh ingredients are said to get any sick or ailin' folk back up to snuff. 'Course, that ain't exactly true, but it does taste pretty damn good, if I do say so myself."

He knew. In that moment, Wash knew. He couldn't help the guilt sweeping over him at the revelation, and he shrank back instinctively. It wasn't like Mal to voluntarily take up cooking, much less use up some of his own precious store of fresh herbs and spices in the process. Which meant that this went way beyond just a special occasion. With downcast eyes, Wash walked on towards the eerie light of the console room, opting not to make a much tempting joke about the entire debacle.

Mal seemed to be done with preparing the food anyhow, and, somehow, Wash had begun to feel like he was intruding. Under different circumstances, he'd have perhaps poked some fun upon catching the captain playing housewife; most especially the preparation of something called hero stew. But things on Serenity were still quite grim, and half the crew was still reeling from the impact the last caper had had. On a good day, making light of a matter that directly involved Inara seemed very unwise around the captain, never mind something actually serious.

It went without saying that he and Kaylee were taking it the worst. Wash could hardly remember when the last time was that he saw the mechanic in her usual chipper demeanour. Ever since the incident, she seemed to isolate herself to the engine room or her bunk. When anyone did catch her wandering the halls of Serenity, she was like a ghost; gaunt, weary, sullen. The life in her seemed somewhat depleted now, her smiles not quite reaching her unlit, tired eyes. Instead, they were red rimmed and puffy, evidence that the memories of the ordeal were still making the girl wet her pillow at night with tears she refused to let any of the others see.

No one knew what to say to her; they couldn't think of a single word of comfort that would magically cure the young girl of her guilt. No one could blame her for how she felt either, least of all Mal. At the same time, only one person on the ship could truly absolve her, but little Kaylee didn't seem to have the nerve to approach her just yet, and it was visibly eating her up from the inside.

But Inara never blamed her for any of it; that much everyone on the ship seemed to know, except Kaylee herself it seemed. Mal, on the other hand...well, Wash and the others knew that the captain had an uncanny habit of always shouldering burdens that weren't his in the first place.

"It was _my_ decision, Mal," Inara could be heard telling him a third time after she'd awoken from the induced coma Simon had put her in.

The good doctor had still been apprehensive about letting the companion have any visitations after what she'd been through, but Inara had been adamant that she was perfectly fine. Not to mention, Mal was antsy, impatient even. He was doing that thing where he ran his hands through his hair a lot, mussing up the perfect chestnut brown strands with thick fingers. He had the telltale bags under his eyes and the vein at his temple would throb more often than not as of late. Wash could recognize the visible signs of a wearing down heart as easily as he could look into a mirror.

"It don't make it right," Mal had rebutted, not making good in this argument. It was showing in his tone of voice; gone was the confident reassuring tongue he usually held with his crew.

But Inara was not officially crew.

"I don't know what else could have been done. I just...I couldn't let them take _her_...," Inara had admitted, her voice small and defeated as she stared down into her lap.

Mal had shaken his head, taking a seat next to her blanketed feet on the stretcher. The words that left his mouth were a whisper of the trembling emotion he'd been feeling since he'd found her; "Didn't mean they could take _you_ instead..."

Everyone on the ship knew that the captain had been torn on the matter. They'd all been there when he'd received the news from Kaylee's nervous lips, and been witness to his slow falling apart. They'd watched his smile whither, his eyes widen, his breath hitch in his throat as he tried to swallow the lump lodged within. He hadn't needed to even hear Kaylee speak before his eyes had searched the cargo bay for the companion, the same way Wash would look into the distance for the familiar silhouette of his wife.

Kaylee had come quivering anyways, her fingers knotting with one another in a nervous dance as she shuffled on out of her hiding spot. Her eyes had glistened with tears, the blood having dried on her upper lip and mingling with the soot that covered her fair skin. Her light brown hair had been a mess of tangles and knots, and it had been obvious from her appearance alone that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

"Th-they came in when you was gone...took us all by surprise, they did. I didn't think..." her voice broke, and she was forced to tear away her gaze from the captain's intense stare.

Mal's jaw muscles clenched, and he'd grabbed the girl firmly by the shoulders until she'd got it all out of her. The sight hadn't been a pretty one, but the urgency in Mal's tone was merciless, and rightfully so. This was Inara they were talking about. Inara, and Kaylee.

They'd taken her. They'd stormed the captain's ship, terrified the mechanic, knocked out the doctor, tied up the Shepherd, and locked River and Wash in their rooms before they'd even stood a fighting chance. Inara had been the only one they'd forgotten about, until they'd threatened Kaylee...Suddenly, the companion had decided to make them an offer they couldn't refuse, if only they'd leave the ship and its crew alone in exchange.

Mal didn't need to give the order; they already knew that they'd be going to rescue her.

"It was a bloodbath," Zoe would tell Wash later, in the privacy of their bunk.

She had looked grim as she stared blankly ahead, her vision glazed over with the image of the hideout they'd found their men in. For the first time, her husband didn't seem too bothered with the mention of gratuitous violence; "Good. Serves those bastards right."

Zoe had been initially somewhat shocked by his concession, but then she'd smiled in understanding and laced her fingers with his, resting her head on his shoulder.

Mal would spend all of his free time either in or around the medbay while Inara was out of commission. When he'd rescued her, he'd found her barely breathing, blood staining her silken dress, dark and sticky where it pooled. She lay limp and lifeless in his arms when he'd carried her onto the ship and, despite his injuries, he never faltered in getting her to Simon's table. Then there was the way he would look at her as she slept soundly; as if someone had condensed all of the beauty of the infinite universe and its stars, and somehow expressed it on her peaceful visage. It was like he would see her, and then nothing else...

"You were bein' stupid!" He'd yell at her later, in a fit of rage.

He had been angry, so very angry, but it was never with her. The type of man Mal was would dictate that the rage he felt was directed at himself, for nearly losing her permanently, for failing in keeping her safe from harm, for putting her in that position to begin with. She was hurt and he was to blame, and the journey to forgiving himself that sin was a long and arduous one. At least, that was how he'd see it, no matter that everyone else would tell him differently.

But Inara was a clever woman, and she knew when to pick her battles with the captain, and when to allow him his anger. So, she'd answered him with a question in a calm, gentle voice; "You mean_ your_ kind of stupid, captain?"

She'd mustered a small smile despite reopening the cut on her lip, and lucky enough, her mood had been contagious.

_Hero stew, indeed_, Wash found himself thinking with a light chuckle and shake of his head. There weren't a pair of fools more deserving of such a thing, except perhaps, his wife and him.

* * *

"I don't imagine you've had a proper, home cooked meal in years seein' as how your culinary knowledge is restricted to tea, so I whipped you up somethin' to warm up the soul," Mal explained as he entered the medbay with a piping hot bowl in his hands. He carried it in with a rag to keep his fingers from being burned, and the steam rolled off the red, watery contents in waves.

Inara smelled it before she saw it, mouth almost watering at the simple thought of fresh, real food, and she'd first assumed she'd only imagined it.

"You made it yourself?" She asked him with mild disbelief, a single dark brow arched up in question as she studied the disheveled man approaching her bed.

Mal responded with an incredulous look. "Sure as hell ain't bought from a store if that's what you're implyin'."

Inara closed her eyes and sniffed the delicious aroma. "Mmmm, it smells divine! Is that fresh parsley?"

Mal settled in the chair next to her as she struggled to sit up, grimacing in mild discomfort from her still healing wounds.

"Careful; it's a mite hot," Mal instructed her when he carefully handed over the bowl of soup.

He watched her lift a spoonful of the broth to her lips and then blow at it softly to help cool down some of the steam. In anticipation and with bated breath, he waited for her to take the first sip of the fruits of his labor.

"Mmmm, it _is_ fresh parsley...," she finally said after drinking the faintly red tinged liquid from the spoon.

Mal exhaled, and managed a genuine smile.

Eyes glowing, Inara turned her attention to him and asked, "Where did you manage to come by all of these rare ingredients?"

Mal shrugged it off. "Had a couple of things lyin' around that I hadn't the chance to use yet. Figured now was as good a time as any."

Inara was already on her fourth spoonful when she confessed to him; "Never thought I'd actually say this, but I think I could get used to you taking care of me, Mal."

The rare compliment from her very nearly took him aback. Instead, he managed to keep his composure and spoke truthfully; "Hero stew was always somethin' folk on Shadow would make for ailin' kids and spouses, and they called it so to make them feel courageous."

A sly smile crept along her sensuous mouth, and she watched him with a glint of mischief in her large, dark eyes. "You'd have made some pretty village girl a loving husband, I'm sure," she teased, but there was something less jovial hiding in the way she'd said it.

She'd expected him to laugh perhaps, but the remark only seemed to crease his brows, and he looked anything but entertained by her words.

"I'm fairly certain I wouldn't make anyone a good husband. Besides, the last so called 'village girl' I married tried to kill me twice," he reminded her, his lips thinning into a tight, angry line.

For some reason, there was a brief sense of relief that washed over her once he'd said that. Not so much the husband bit, but the part that he'd have no interest in a simpler girl.

"With that said, many of the hands on the ranch would joke that I'd be better suited to a woman who don't know her way around a kitchen at all. They were teasin' me, I know, but I guess what I'm saying is you're lucky someone on this ship knows what to do with a few fresh ingredients," he smirked at her before she had the chance to recover from the warmth rising to her neck and cheeks.

She'd never figure out whether the sudden wave of heat overcoming her body was from the hot soup in her lap or Mal's sudden flirtatious demeanour and handsomely charming expression.

* * *

**A/N: **_Almost no Chinese this time around. The title is in Chinese, and translates to courage, if anyone is wondering. I may yet expand this piece into a one-shot, but not too sure if I've enough material to fill up something lengthy and worth reading as a standalone. Feedback, as per usual, is welcomed. _


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